Blood Magic
by LazyChuckle
Summary: "First you come into my home," he shouted at her back, "then you take away my firewhiskey!" he slammed his fist onto the table. "Big baby," she muttered under her breath, trying to reach the top shelf so she could hide away the bottle. I'm not good at summaries, but I'd encourage you to give this fic a chance! :P


She didn't like the man sitting in front of her.

She took in a drag of her Marlboro cigarette.

She let it out.

"…so I told him that he was wrong. Can you imagine? Only because…" she definitely didn't like him. There was something wrong about his vibe. Not to mention he was downright boring.

She took a sip of her Martini and made an agreeable noise. Thankfully, she didn't have to do any talking - he seemed to be able to play both their parts equally well. He even answered his own questions.

The intimate restaurant-bar was only half full. From her spot at the bar she could observe most of the left wing. Couches and chairs were occupied by people, their words - a low hum the air. Somewhere in the corner, next to the window, on "Mickey Monkey's" signature dusty brown couches, sat a group of teenagers, clearly trying to stay out of trouble, just to be able to have another beer.

With her Martini glass now half empty, she decided that enough was enough.

Stuffing an excuse into a rare silence provided by her _companion_ (whom she meet maybe 20 minutes ago) _,_ and without waiting for his response she got off the tall bar stool, took her light leather racket and with a quite "bye", headed straight for the exit.

She shrugged her jacket on and politely thanked the gentleman who opened the door for her.

Her shoes click along the near empty side walk as she made her way to the tube.

She had morning shift tomorrow anyways, so it would be best to go home and sleep.

On the tube she pulled out her headphones and plugged them into her player. She though to the sound of a soft guitar and the longing voice of her favourite artist.

She though of the book about a werewolf girl she read the other day that made her cry. Of all the reasons that made her come all the way to London, so far away from home.

There weren't many - she wanted to see the world, gain some experience in her chosen career. It also just so happened that she got excepted into King's College, into a graduate program to study medicine.

"Angel," the mechanical voice announced. Her station.

She go off, but didn't want to go home - not to the little flat 15 minutes away that she shared with Lisa.

Instead she headed down some random street; she didn't bother looking at the name and she hadn't memorised the area by heart yet - she's only been living here for a month, and most of that time she spent either at home or at King's. She glanced at her watch which read 23:33.

Leisurely she made her way through the late September night, sparsely illuminated by lampposts. She pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a quite _flick_ of the white Clipper.

Turning yet another corner, she reached some kind of Square with white houses and black fences. In the centre there was a park, surrounded by a green, metal fence.

She made to cross the road, and go find an entrance into the park.

Her boot stepped onto the empty road, when something heavy collided with her. With a small noise she flew several meters back and landed with a loud _thud_ on the hard pavement. Instantly the world went dark.

The next time she opened her eyes to the sound of barking right next to her ear. With her vision blurry and stomach twisting as a possible result of a concussion, she tired to sit up. She changed her mind when her entire right side burned in pain as a protest.

"…I'm not good at healing spells!"

Her ears rang.

"Then what do you suppose we do?!"

Down the street someone continued bickering.

Something warm and fuzzy brushed itself along her body - she couldn't pinpoint were exactly because of the pain. A moment later she felt a shove from that very same spot and she rolled onto her back, screaming out in pain.

Her right hand flew up to her left shoulder only to feel and unnatural indentation where her shoulder should have been. He found the dislocated part of her shoulder dangling limply somewhere at her side.

The next thing she felt was something warm and sticky dripped from her right arm onto her neck. Then again and again.

"Miss, can you hear me?" came a voice from above.

She didn't respond.

"Mis-,"

"Padfoot! What are you doing here?!" shouted a woman's voice, "you know you shouldn't- oh,", the woman with purple hair gasped, "what happened here?" now her voice sounded even more alarmed than before.

With the last of her energy leaving her she was finally consumed by blissful darkness.


End file.
